


April Showers

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pining, john has some issues and is very out of touch with his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:39:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: Just a look into the life of Mr. Dickinson.





	April Showers

John Dickinson woke up to stifling warm air, humid, in the way that made his bangs stick uncomfortably to his forehead. He didn’t want to open his eyes just yet, but the sun still pierced through his eyelids in a way that made any hope of returning to sleep fruitless. He shifted slightly in bed, draping his arm over his eyes. Another day of work, he mused, another day of suffering through the stifling heat just to return home without any sense of accomplishment or purpose, really. A quiet groan escaped him. Just a few more minutes of sleep would make it all worth it. Just a few more minutes of sleep would render him able to face the day, which would most likely play out as all the days preceding it, and most likely all the days after.   
  
The heat was getting worse by the minute, it felt, and he grimly opened his eyes to the harsh morning sunlight beaming through his windows. He’d left them open, he noticed, last night when the air was cool and light and didn’t feel like it was going to suffocate him if he didn’t get out of bed. With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, almost deciding that was enough physical activity for the day, and swung his legs off the bed. If he got up now, one thing would lead to another and he’d have to spend his day in that stifling chamber, listening to John Adams parade on and on about independence… With a groan he forced himself to stand, blinking as his vision went dark for almost a moment, and rubbed his hands over his face. 

 

John rubbed his eyes, noting with relief that the innkeeper had left him a basin of fresh water, and he lazily splashed it into his face. His bangs dripped water down onto his face in a way that made him twitch, and he forcefully shook his head, watching as drops of water were scattered around the room. For a moment he silently berated himself for acting so childishly, but then repeated the process once more.    
  
Feeling significantly better, he quickly dried himself off with a hand towel and set about gathering up his clothes. He looked down at the breeches in his hand, a pale, mint green, and rubbed his thumb along the corduroy fabric. It felt nice, he pondered, he always purchased clothes on a basis of how they felt rather than looked. It just so happened all the best ones came in green. He shook himself out of his thoughts and glanced at the clock. He wasn’t running late by any means, but he always enjoyed a familiar schedule and if one thing took too long he’d spend the rest of the day out of order. He looked down at his bed one last time, his jaw clenching in grim frustration. He could just put his clothes back and fall back into bed, sleeping the rest of the day. He sighed. No, James would worry and Adams would probably come up with some underhanded scheme to take advantage of his absence. 

 

He miserably pulled on his stockings, then breeches. Waistcoat, cravat- no. Cravat. No! He hissed. He could never get this damned knot right. Waistcoat removed. Cravat. He gave a frustrated growl. One more try. Damn it. Again. A relieved sigh when he pulled the fabric through and glanced at himself in the mirror, noting that he looked passable. Waistcoat once again. Now to tie up his hair… He glanced around for the ribbon he had in his hand just a moment ago. A full minute of neurotic searching. Then two. There we go. That’s done. He pulled a tailcoat from his closet, shrugging it on and feeling a sense of comfort at the familiar fabric. This was always such an ordeal…

His clothes in passable order, he stared at his door for a moment, wondering if there was any chance he could just not go. No, he’d spent twenty minutes on this damned cravat, there was no way he was letting his work go to waste. While he was lost in thought, he suddenly noticed the sound of light rain from outside, gentle rolls of thunder in the distance. He didn’t move, stopped to focus on the noise of rain hitting the leaves of the trees outside, a rhythmic, light tapping on the roof overhead. He blinked, and whipped around to shut the windows of his bedroom, protecting the papers neatly stacked on his desk from warm raindrops. 

After shutting each window he finally encouraged himself to leave, heading downstairs and outside into the street. It was still quite warm, though the rain made it bearable, his hair already damp from earlier. He walked slowly down the street, passing lamp posts that still slightly flickered on stubs of candles, and the occasional passerby, seemingly unbothered by the light shower. The sun occasionally peeked out from the clouds, covering the city in a sparkling golden light, the sparse showers of rain hardly enough to darken the sky. Still, the quiet but chaotic noise of each drop hitting the ground, scattering into unseen particles made his ears twitch, and he hurriedly brushed his bangs from his face to keep the water from dripping down his nose. The trees surrounding the street were dotted with pink, the new budding flowers of early Spring. 

When he neared his usual waiting spot, he stopped walking, only staring in silence at the man a few feet away. Dressed in varying shades of grey he stood there, not moving, and staring up at the sky. His blue eyes shone in the warm light, the raindrops creating a faint reflection of the sun, warm and bright that caused him to sparkle with refracted sunlight. A heavy raindrop rolled down his cheek and he blinked, whipping his head around to see John. His eyes looked pale and startled, and the two stared at each other in silence for a moment. Time seemed to stop as John’s eyes locked with his, until James gave him a warm and nervous smile.    
  
“What are you doing all the way over there, John?” He asked quietly, the corners of his lips twitching into his cheeks. John’s gaze immediately averted down to James’ shoes as he walked towards him. The rain from John’s hair continued to drip down into his face. As he neared James, he looked down instinctively to his own buckled shoes. His nose twitched in slight annoyance. Their carriage driver was usually here by now, what was taking so long?   
  
“Well you know what they say about April showers,” James responded softly to John’s silence. John eventually looked up to see James still looking up at the sky. John couldn’t manage to read his expression. He rarely could. The rain hadn’t let up, but it had gotten warmer and John didn’t feel so uncomfortable about the drops of water dripping down his cheeks. He watched a nearby tree as the leaves twitched and bent under the rainfall.    
  
“I’ve never been one for flowers,” John replied. His response was late, and it took James a moment to register his meaning. When he did, he looked back at John with eyebrows raised, before a smile formed on his face. John’s expression didn’t move, and James laughed quietly, the sound making John’s cheeks go pink. He quickly looked back down at his shoes as James gazed at him fondly.   
  
“For some reason,” James said quietly, “I can’t see that.” John turned to look at him, their eyes locked and James still smiling at him warmly. John blinked and looked back down at his shoes.   
  
“No. Perhaps not.”   
  
James looked back up at the sky in silence. A cloud moved in front of the sun for just a moment, making the street dark and the rain on John’s skin feel cold for a second, before it passed. The warmth of the sun returned like it had never left. John’s eyes followed a leaf, torn from a tree by a sudden breeze turn and flutter to the ground. The street was quiet, except for the rhythmic splashing of rain against the trees and cobblestones.     
  
After a few more moments John gritted his teeth in frustration, his patience having run out. “Where the hell is that carriage driver?” He snapped. “It’s been fifteen minutes.” John’s eyes instinctively moved to look at James, who hadn’t moved.    
  
“Don’t worry, John,” he responded quietly, still staring up at the sparse clouds. “Everything will be fine.”    
  
John tugged at his hair, curling a stray lock around his finger. “What if we’re late?” He asked, trying to mask the tension from his frustration.   
  
James gave a small shrug and John almost didn’t notice it. “Then we’re late.”

John blanked at that response, his lips parting slightly, unsure of what to say. It always seemed to him that James just really didn’t care about things. About anything. He still always managed to get through to John, past his high-strung exterior without even trying to. He was always so warm and sweet in a way John just couldn’t wrap his brain around.

“Of course,” James continued, “If you’re that worried about being late, we could just walk.”

“We’ll get soaking wet, James.”   
  
“We already are, John.” He looked over to John once again, without any clear emotion on his face. Amusement, maybe, John guessed. Another raindrop rolled down the side of his face as if to prove his point. John sighed.   
  
“I knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today.”   
  
James laughed suddenly, and reached for John’s hand. John startled as James took his hand in his own and interlocked their fingers together, before giving John’s arm a gentle tug.    
  
“Come on, John. At least it’s warm out.”    
  
A startled “Oh-” escaped John’s lips as James pulled him along. John followed him numbly, nearly tripping over himself as his foot splashed into a puddle. His stockings were soaked but he hardly noticed. James’ grip on his hand was firm, yet gentle and John’s eyes were glued to the back of James’ head, the way the sunlight made the raindrops in his hair sparkle. Warmth flooded John’s chest as the smaller man led him along, stepping lightly around the puddles and leaves on the sidewalk. The rain on John’s face was warm and gentle, and something about the humidity in the air seemed more tolerable than earlier. John smiled.   
  
“Yes. It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure what I'm doing with this. Or with anything really. It's been some rough times lately so this was comforting to write.


End file.
